"Lawrence Watt-Evans - Ethshar 6 - The Spell of the Black Dagger" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watt-Evans Lawrence)

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PART ONE

Thief

CHAPTER 1

The house was magnificent, its dozen gables high and ornate, the cornerposts
elaborately carved and painted, the many panes of the broad windows neatly
beveled and arranged in intricate patterns. Some of the window glass was
colored, but most was clear and of the highest quality; through the
crystalline casements Tabaea could see only tightly drawn curtains and drapesтАФ
draperies of velvet and silk and other fine fabrics, no simple cotton shades
or wooden shutters here.

The house faced onto both Grand Street and Wizard Street, its front door at
the corner, angled to face northeast into the intersection. Small shrines were
carved into the stone archway on either side of this door, each shrine
equipped with both a fountain and an eternal flame. The substance of the door
itself was unidentifiable under its thick coat of glossy black enamel, but it
was bound and trimmed with polished brass, with gleaming bolt heads forming a
complex spiral pattern.

Despite its prominent location, there were no shop windows, no signboardsтАФit
was obviously a residence, rather than a business. Curious, that anyone would
build so fine a house here in the Grandgate district, Tabaea thoughtтАФand
worthy of further investigation. She had walked past it many times, of course,
but had never paid much attention before.

She admired the shrines, then wandered on down Grand Street as if she were
just another ordinary young citizen out for a late stroll on a summer evening,
or perhaps an apprentice returning from an errand. She paused at the rear
corner of the house and glanced back, as if trying to remember something; what
she was actually doing, however, was studying the street to see whether anyone
was watching her.

About a dozen people were scattered along the four long blocks between herself
and Grandgate Market, but none of them seemed to be looking in her direction,
or paying any attention to her. No one was leaning out any of the windows or
shop doors. The market itself was crowded, but at this distance that hardly
mattered; even in the bright torchlight, the people there were little more
than faceless blobs. None of them would be able to identify her later.

Thus reassured, she turned and ducked into the narrow alley behind the great
house.

Grand Street was reasonably well lit, thanks to the torches and lanterns
illuminating the various shops and taverns, but there were no torches in the
alley, and no light came from either the house on her left or the shuttered